


A Lie of Omission

by missred



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: Delirium, Fever, Gen, Hosptials, It kind of backfires, Patrick is pissed, Pete is trying to do the right thing, Sickfic, Unconsciousness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-05
Updated: 2015-02-05
Packaged: 2018-03-09 18:30:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3259946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missred/pseuds/missred
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pete keeps a little secret that ends up being a big deal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Lie of Omission

Pete literally rolled out of bed far past morning. Andy had come back in the bunk area and tapped him gently and then not so gently until he woke up. Disoriented and mostly asleep, Pete fell out of the bunk and landed half on Andy’s calf’s until Andy grabbed him and hauled him up. Pete’s head was muzzy and his throat was on fire.

“aughhh." Pete dropped his head and mumbled into Andy’s shoulder.

“C’mon, lazy, we’ve got soundcheck soon." The show was in Atlanta tonight, which was fine except it was hot in Atlanta. And Pete felt hot enough already.

“Did the AC break or something?” Pete questioned as he followed Andy into the lounge.

Andy shot him a strange look.

“Still going full blast.”

“haha, right.”

Patrick looked up from his laptop.

“You alright?”

“Totally.” Pete flashed him a toothy grin. “Got my beauty sleep and everything.”

“Why’s your face still look like that, then? Joe deadpanned from the corner.

“Guess it just doesn’t get any prettier than this.” Pete shot back with a smirk. He was pretty proud of how normal he sounded. If he kept his voice low the hoarse scratch in his throat was almost unnoticeable. He retreated to his bunk to grab his phone. Pete knew his bandmates were hardly ever on twitter, so he felt safe in sending out a quick tweet.

“Atlanta, bear with me. Woke up with a sore throat and fever gonna fight through it tho”

Pete was focused enough on hiding how he felt that he didn’t notice Patrick’s worried glances.  Halfway through soundcheck Patrick stopped and walked over.

“Are you sure you’re okay? You don’t look so good.”

Pete clapped Patrick on the shoulder. It was ostensibly a friendly gesture--really Pete was trying to keep Patrick from getting too close. He felt that awful, too warm, sort of sick that always seemed to prelude a fever for him.

"I'm fine dude."

He wasn't though. Come showtime the stage was wavering like a mirage and he could feel his pulse in his fingers. A secondary, dull pulse echoed back in his throat which how was that even possible Pete didn't know. It felt like hell and he wished it would stop. 

It helped when the venue started filling. It was ten minutes before they were supposed to go on and Pete could already see the beaming smiles of the kids pressed up against the barrier. He remembered that feeling. Pete was a big believer in healing vibes, and this was the best one he knew about, besides his kids. He searched in vain for some Tylenol, but he'd left it all on the bus. Patrick probably had some, and Andy might have had one of those icee gel packs, but asking him for it would mean questions, and then Andy would tell Joe and Patrick, and there was nothing to do about it now. Pete just had to make it through the show and then he could crash and it would be fine.

He played the whole show pretty convincingly. He made sure to throw in a couple spins even though they made him kind of nauseated and the room didn't stop spinning when he did. Pete thought he was going to make it, he really did. But when he handed off his bass and headed towards the barrier for Saturday, his legs didn't work. Everything got slow as the sound faded out and Pete's knees buckled. It sort of felt like dreaming when his head hit the stage. Pete liked the hollow sleepy feeling in his lungs. His eyes closed.

* * *

 

The first thing Pete was aware of the way he felt _off_. More than just feeling sick, something wasn't right. There was a dull throbbing in the back of his head, but that wasn't what bothered him. He could tell he was lying down, but he knew even before he tried to pry his eyes open that he wasn't in his bunk. The bed was too wide, long. Pete forced resistant lids open. He was alone in a hospital room. Panic set in and before he could begin to quell it he was stumbling out of bed, accidentally knocking over an IV pole as he went, flinching as the needle ripped free from the back of his hand.  

He blinked against harsh florescent lights as he stepped out into the hall. Pete didn't know how he got here, but he knew it was his fault somehow, and that he had to find his...had to find..his people. He felt clammy and dizzy from the effort, but he persisted towards the end of hall, where a sign read "waiting room." Someone had put him in one of those nasty hospital gowns that never felt like they covered enough, but Pete didn't have the energy to worry if he was mooning people. He was doing pretty well until he passed the nurses station just before the double doors.

"Mr. Wentz--what are you doing out of bed!" A short brunette stood and started towards him. Even groggy, Pete knew he only had a split second. He bolted for the doors. He made it to the waiting room a full three seconds before the nurse. Joe was pacing agitatedly, Andy was staring at his shoes.  Patrick had his eyes closed, brow furrowed and his hands clasped tight. He jumped up when Pete burst in, panting. 

"Guys, I--I'm," Pete couldn't find the words or the breath. 

The nurse barged in a moment later and grabbed Pete firmly by the arm. 

"Mr. Wentz, I really do have to insist that you return to your bed."

Pete shook his head mutely and leaned hard against her, shaking free. He wavered as he tried to support himself, seeing spots.

"Pete! Stop." Andy sprang into action, wrapping his arms tight around Pete's torso. Something clicked and Pete sagged in Andy's grip. He was so, so tired, and it was _Andy_.

"Andy, Andy." Pete mumbled. "Tell them m'okay."

He was too out of it to hear the small sigh his request caused, but he heard Andy's quiet response.

"I will." 

Pete breathed out. His limbs felt heavy as he let Andy half-carry him back to his room. Andy stayed while the nurse tucked him into bed. Pete blinked slowly and tried to stay awake. He was close to losing consciousness when the nurse prepped a fresh IV and tried to insert it into the hand that hadn't been damaged in Pete's impromptu walk. 

"No I don't want that."  Pete twisted his hand away.

"It's not optional at this point, Mr. Wentz." She replied calmly. "Right now the most important thing is to keep your fever down and your fluid intake high."

"I'm okay." Pete repeated.

"Right now, you aren't." She replied, just as calmly, using Pete's distraction with the conversation to get the IV into his hand. Pete flinched when the needle when in, but she just taped it firmly and told him to leave it be.

"When can I go?" Pete asked. 

"Not tonight." Was her only answer. 

"A doctor will be in to see you in the morning.  Your friends can come visit after you've been examined."

Andy, taking his cue, squeezed Pete's hand, murmured "See you tomorrow" and walked out of the room.

Pete could barely keep his eyes open long enough to see him go.

* * *

Pete woke up because someone was sticking something in his ear. He mumbled and tried to shake off the sleepiness that clung to him, forcing his eyes open.

"Sorry," a cheery redhead beamed down at him.

"didn't mean to wake you, I  just need to get your vitals before Doctor Tyler sees you, temperature especially you know. Your chart shows you had a pretty nasty fever going when you were admitted."

At this, Pete wiggled so he was sitting half-upright, and tried to look like something he was not--healthy. He made pleasant small talk with redheaded nurse--Jenna--while she took his blood pressure.

 Not long after she left, the door opened again and an older woman stepped in. She strode over the bed and shook Pete's hand firmly. 

"Good morning Mr. Wentz. How are you feeling?" 

"Great." Pete croaked. He wished he could have sounded more convincing. 

"That's not the usual answer we get when someone comes in here with a 104 fever." She said, smiling wryly.

"Um." Pete didn't know how to respond to _that_.

"Are you aware you suffered a loss of consciousness last night due to your  incredibly elevated temperature?" She queried.

"I...Yeah." Pete was quiet, remembering the feeling of his legs giving way. It felt like a dream. "Patrick's gonna kill me." He said, mostly to himself.

"Mr. Wentz, allowing your illness to get so out of hand was reckless. It could have cost you your life. You suffered a bout of delirium that was quite upsetting for your friends to witness, do you understand?"

All Pete understood was that this doctor seemed hell-bent on making him feel _worse_ somehow. As if he didn't already feel like a grade-A asshole. 

"Yeah, it was stupid of me. I thought I could play last night. I shouldn't have." Pete recited the words he knew she wanted to hear, but when he met her eyes, she looked unimpressed. 

"So..am I good to check out now?"

Doctor Tyler harrumphed not so quietly. 

"Your fever is down to 100. 3, so you're out of dangerous temperature zones, _but_  " she added, "that is with the use of prescription fever reducers, and considering your prior behavior, I'm not releasing you unless you have another adult who can sign to verify they will ensure you take your medication."

It definitely didn't sound legal to Pete, but he was too exhausted to make a fuss.

"Okay, fine. Sure. Ask for Patrick Stump. He can sign for me." He told her tiredly.

She nodded and left. 

Minutes later Patrick, Joe, and Andy came in. Or rather, Joe and Andy came in after Patrick stormed through the door and stomped right up to Pete's bed. Pete was pretty sure if he wasn't already in the hospital, Patrick would have punched him.

"What the hell were you thinking?!"   
Pete didn't have a chance to ge a word in, not that he knew what to say anyways.

"You _knew_ you were  _sick_ and you didn't tell any of us."

"Andy showed me the tweet." He added, waving his phone angrily.  "Every fan in Atlanta knew you were sick last night. And you couldn't be bothered to tell me or Joe, or Andy?"

"Rick, it wasn't a big deal."

"Not a big deal?! Pete--we had to call an ambulance. Do you see where you are right now?"

"I thought it was just a cold, I never thought--"

"--No," Joe interrupted, unusually somber, "You didn't think."

" _Fuck_ , Trohman." Pete muttered emphatically. "I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry."

"We were worried about you." Andy offered softly. "Really, really, worried."

"I know."

'Your doctor made me like legally swear to get you to take your meds before she'd let you out of here, you know." Patrick told him.

"Yeah, I know." Pete grinned, and it was tired but it was his. 

"I told her straight up go to Stump he's my keeper."

"I don't get paid enough for this." Patrick teased, falling into their same old joke.

"Next time I end up in the back of an ambulance I'll up your salary." Pete deadpanned.

" _Pete_." All three men growled in unison.

"Kidding, kidding." Pete held his hands up. 

"You better be." Patrick told him. 

"I'll never tell the internet more than you again."

"God help you." Andy snickered.  

But Patrick was serious.   
"No more lies, even the not-telling kind, got it?"

Pete lay back, took a breath. 

"Got it."

 

**Author's Note:**

> A couple of anons wanted worried Patrick and sick Pete passing out during a show. This is the result. Inspired by an actual tweet about Pete feeling sick in Atlanta.


End file.
